


A Gift

by Nate Elune (nate_elune)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nate_elune/pseuds/Nate%20Elune
Summary: Things are tentative, at first, and not just between the wizards from either side of the border who have just met, for the most part - but also between Essek and Caleb. Caleb doesn’t let it trouble him unduly. Neither he nor Essek has ever been trusting, as a rule, or socially enthusiastic, and it has been years.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 31
Kudos: 124





	A Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladypandora16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladypandora16/gifts).



> This was written for Jenna, for being an all around awesome person, and it just so happens I managed to finish it in time for her birthday isn't that one more sign of her awesomeness.
> 
> And many thanks to my very favourite Bun for the beta! <3
> 
> Any mistakes, especially in any German, are all mine.
> 
> Thanks to Matthew Mercer for letting us know Essek's eye colour just in time for this, too. >.>

# A Gift

There is comfort and loneliness to be found, stepping into this familiar place, alone but for Frumpkin. The stained glass windows are bright with the colours of magic, and Caleb steps onto the raised platform and thinks, quite morosely, _Up._ Frumpkin rises beside him, and they do not stop in the Great Hall, oddly silent but for the occasional meow or pitty-patter of spectral cat paws. This is where the loneliness cuts worse, where the Nein have been so boisterous in the past.

Caleb keeps thinking, _Up,_ and they float up through the library of all the books Caleb already knows by heart. It is silly, he often tells himself, to wish for a new book to spring among the others, without his knowledge. He only needs to read a book to add it to the collection, after all; it is a very silly wish.

_Up,_ still, up through the dining room, through all the bedrooms kept warm and cozy for the time when any of them might stay here again, _Up,_ and a whispered, _"Fort, doch nicht vergessen,”_ a phrase that seems to mean more with each passing month, each lingering loss, each stretching absence.

Tonight is a night for cold reflection, so Caleb does not hesitate. He opens the sixth door and looks down at Frumpkin, who is winding around his ankles. _“Nicht heute Abend, mein Freund,”_ he whispers, not tonight, and sends Frumpkin to the other cats.

Then Caleb walks into a facsimile of the room where the three of them suffered so much for what they thought was right, for the Empire, for Trent Ikithon. He takes his seat in his chair, looks dispassionately on the tray of tools beside it, and absorbs himself in thought.

The days to come will be challenging.

***

There is comfort and loneliness to be found at the thought of seeing an old friend again. The very thought feels foreign to Essek, echoing off the walls of his mind, the question wrapped up in it met only with silence. Had they ever been friends?

The list of names continues, envoys from the Cerberus Assembly, and Essek can feel the Bright Queen’s gaze on him. He lifts his gaze to meet hers, wonders not for the first time how much the turquoise eyes can see in him. Surely not that much, or he would have been dead long ago. His mask is as firmly in place now as always, and he holds her gaze without challenge, hostility, or fear. (That last one is locked away deep inside his heart, where even her piercing gaze cannot find it.)

Leylas Kryn looks away; Essek knows better than to let himself feel relief. He looks back around the rest of their circle, the trusted (were they?) advisors of their Empress, while he thinks back to the last time he saw Caleb Widogast.

Had they ever been friends? That is not the actual question, Essek surmises, looking around the faces of people he has known for decades, and yet does not care for personally or deeply. The actual question is, is he even capable of friendship? Or is he too self-serving for that?

There will be much to accomplish in the days to come, if this tentative alliance is to take hold. Getting wizards to trust each other, to work together, has never been easy, never mind the political divide between them. And yet, it is not what Essek expects to be the greatest challenge.

He has learned that much from the Mighty Nein.

***

Caleb is cataloguing every detail that has changed, from the moment their group appears in the teleportation circle of the Lucid Bastion. Only a couple of the others have been here before, and certainly none of them quite as often as Caleb. His prodigious memory notes every change in furniture and decoration as they are led towards the Cathedral of the Bright Queen, a path he could still have followed with his eyes shut. (Especially with Frumpkin’s help. Of course, for now Frumpkin is safely off of the Material Plane.)

They are not made to wait as the Mighty Nein had been, all these years ago. Of course not. They are expected, welcome guests, rather than a band of gatecrashing _Arschlöcher_ hoping to pull off the biggest con of their lives. They are led into the throne room immediately, where Empress Leylas Kryn sits majestically on her silver throne, a dark, bright beacon in a white dress, her chest sheathed in silver latticework. Caleb can’t quite help the corners of his lips from quirking up; _she_ hasn’t changed at all.

His gaze sweeps over the five people seated around her as his colleagues and he near the dais. Abrianna Mirimm, the Skysybil, is gone; that is no surprise, as the Cerberus Assembly has learned of her passing. She will be back once anamnesis is complete, Caleb assumes, perhaps no longer a goblin, but for now, a severe-looking male orc sits in her chair, looking down at them from behind a pair of spectacles. Gauging them, clearly.

The rest are all drows Caleb has met before, and he can’t help but let his gaze linger on the last one of them. He hasn’t changed either, the white hair perfectly coiffed to one side, a few rings glittering on his long fingers, an elaborate mantle and long dark robes, and that same intelligent violet-blue gaze. When their eyes meet, Caleb thinks that no, something has changed, but he can’t quite say what it is. Before he can try and pinpoint it, Essek breaks eye contact, and that impression is gone.

***

That first meeting goes as well as it could have, introductions and renewed statements of intent. It isn’t long before the small group of Cerberus wizards has been entrusted to Essek’s care, and he floats down to them with his ever present small smile.

“It is good to see you again,” Caleb tells him as they turn away from the throne to head out of the Cathedral, and it is like no time at all has passed, never mind that Caleb is visibly older. There are deeper lines on his brow, but also around his eyes and mouth. Essek decides that he must owe the former to the Assembly, the latter to the Mighty Nein.

But it is like no time has passed at all, like Caleb isn’t dressed in formal wizard robes Essek has never seen him in before, like the Nein might come barrelling around the corner any second, because there is that light in Caleb’s eyes, like the smile that won’t quite curve his lips up has to show somewhere, and there is that honesty to his words that Essek has never known whether to trust.

“And you,” he answers, because he has to answer something, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can think of something cleverer to say. He can feel his usual distant smile slip into something a little truer, and for a beat, he lets it.

Then he is drifting along, leading them to the other wizards they will work with, if all goes well.

***

Things are tentative, at first, and not just between the wizards from either side of the border who have just met, for the most part - but also between Essek and Caleb. Caleb doesn’t let it trouble him unduly. Neither he nor Essek has ever been trusting, as a rule, or socially enthusiastic, and it has been years. Years that show on him more than on Essek, outwardly, but he does his best not to linger on the thought. It is another silly thought.

Instead, Caleb focuses on helping his colleagues, who know so little about dunamancy, understand its basic principles as Essek and his colleagues explain them. Essek has picked this group well; they mostly manage to hide their reluctance to share. They evade beautifully, and sometimes conversation feels like a chess game where Caleb has to keep thinking ten moves ahead. The war was a few years ago, but to elves, that doesn’t mean much. A few years must feel like a few months.

He asks Essek about that, on the evening of the second day, as everybody else is filing out of the large casting room they are using for this. The drow looks thoughtful, and does not answer immediately. Caleb likes that Essek is giving his question proper thought.

“It doesn’t feel that recent,” he acknowledges, after a moment. “It is less about a set amount of time, and more about time for things to change within us. All of us.” The violet eyes flick towards the door the last of the others have filed out of, encompassing them in his statement. Then he looks back at Caleb, lips quirked in his usual cool little smile. “This wouldn’t have stood a chance any earlier.”

Caleb completes that thought. “But it stands a chance now.”

“Doesn’t it?” Essek asks, and Caleb only nods slightly, with a slow blink. “How is Veth doing?”

“Quite well,” Caleb answers, feeling a smile blooming warm on his face. “Luc still wants to be an adventurer, but for now they’re all still in Nicodranas.”

“Do you visit?”

Essek is studying Caleb’s face, and Caleb wonders what he sees in his expression. He tries not to let the loneliness show, but he has never been very good at hiding it. “Sometimes.”

Essek seems on the edge of saying something else, lips parted, hesitating, but then the door to the casting room opens again, and one of Caleb’s colleagues asks if he is coming for dinner. Caleb excuses himself, and Essek lets him go, his distant little smile back in place.

***

Comfort, and loneliness. There is a pang in Essek’s heart when they are interrupted, and the chance to invite Caleb to come and dine with him snuffs out in front of him. That is for the best, probably. That small pang was better than the disappointment, had Caleb turned him down. And what if he had accepted? The question still plagues Essek. Is he even capable of friendship?

Oh, but part of him wants to find out.

The next day, he is in the middle of explaining something about exploiting the potential of alternate timelines when a bright voice pipes up in his mind, and he trails off. _“Hiiiiiiiiiiiii. It’s Jester! Beau says Caleb is visiting. I’m so jealous! We really miss you, Essek. Fjord says hi. Give Caleb a hug for me!”_

He blinks, says, “Excuse me a moment,” to the wizards around him, and focuses on sending a message back, without saying anything out loud. _“Jester. It is good to hear from you.”_ Even within his own mind, he is surprised at how warm and genuine he sounds. How warm and genuine he feels. Is he capable of friendship? _“You are welcome to visit any time, of course. No promises about the hug.”_

He turns back to the small group of wizards; another Dunamancer has taken over his explanation, but Caleb’s clear bright eyes are focused on Essek, a question in them. Essek feels his lips tug up into a small, but warm, genuine smile. Something bright lights up Caleb’s eyes after understanding dawns on his face, and Essek has to break eye contact or he feels he might laugh.

Isn’t he capable of friendship?

***

_“Ca-leb!”_ No one pronounces his name quite like Jester, and Caleb has been expecting one such message, since he caught Essek receiving one of his own just a minute or so ago. Caleb murmurs an apology and steps out of the room, listening to Jester’s twenty-five words with a fond smile on his face. He does not smile like this as often as he used to. _“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were going to Rosohna! Beau says it’s super serious official wizard business or we would already -”_ The message cuts off, and Caleb chuckles, alone in the hallway. Only a handful of seconds later, Jester continues. _“Sorry, I got cut off. Anyway! You have to hug Essek for me, okay? I’m not sure he has anybody to give him hugs. …Pooping?”_

Caleb laughs out loud this time, the sound reverberating a little in the empty hallway with its high arches. _“I make no promises, and no, I’m not pooping. I hope you are well, you and Fjord.”_ He thinks, _I miss you,_ but he doesn’t say it, and he lets the spell fizzle out with a few words to go. Whatever strides he had made in expressing his affection, he has mostly lost the habit in the last few years.

A door clicks in his back, and he sees Essek standing there, eyebrows raised, his small smile more amused than distant. “Jester?”

“Jester,” Caleb confirms.

“I had been wondering,” Essek starts, and he sounds hesitant. Caleb wonders if she said anything to _him_ about hugging. “Would you like to come to dinner some time? I know you have certain obligations to your fellow -”

“I would love to,” Caleb cuts in, feeling that same fond smile shine in the back of his eyes, especially when Essek’s light up at his answer.

“Would - tonight suit?”

“Tonight would be great.”

It had taken Essek long enough to ask.

***

That afternoon, the Bright Queen asks to speak to Caleb. Essek wishes he could sit in on this meeting, but that is not where his duties currently lie. Instead he leads a discussion on equations and runes, contrasting and comparing the Cerberus way with the dunamantic way. He still feels uneasy, teaching so much to Cerberus wizards, all the more so with Caleb nowhere in sight. But as he is told, so he must do, and he does hope this rapprochement will work out. He remembers one morning spent in his tower with Caleb and Veth, who had still looked like a goblin then, and he knows how much more wizards can accomplish if they work together.

Especially where Caleb is involved.

“I hope you had a good meeting with the Queen,” he remarks as they head towards his home that evening, easily falling in stride with each other.

“She was very gracious to me,” Caleb answers, and cuts Essek a bit of a smile. The kind of smile Essek is usually the one to wield. Caleb must have learned a lot of politics since they last saw each other; it is not a smile of politics, per se, but it is the smile of someone who knows politics.

It is a smile that tells Essek Caleb isn’t going to say more, or at least, not now. He bows his head in understanding, his own smile playing about his lips. “That is good to hear. She has always liked you, I think.”

Not that that means anything, in terms of politics. But it is still something.

“We did bring her back her beacon,” Caleb remarks.

“For a start.” There is so much more the Mighty Mein did for the Dynasty, but Essek hardly needs to list their accomplishments. As for the way Caleb deflected that compliment by making it about all of them, well, Essek is going to let him, of course. He doesn’t want to make him uneasy.

Caleb summons Frumpkin once they’re inside Essek’s home, and the cat is immediately exploring the new territory. Essek’s interior hasn’t changed much, only some new furniture here or there, but he watches Caleb look everywhere with a keen, attentive expression.

“I hope you still like wine,” Essek ventures after a few moments. “I’ve had a bottle opened.”

“I do,” Caleb confirms, looking back at him with a fond smile. Essek thinks - hopes? - it is fond, anyway. “Thank you, Essek.”

They have a drink and chat about the Mighty Nein for a while. Essek is glad to have news from everyone, and even more glad that it all sounds like good news, for all that the Nein have scattered across Wildemount.

“Have you, ah, made other friends yourself?” Caleb asks, looking as uneasy as he sounds.

“Have you?” It is not dissembling; it is a reply in itself. Caleb is part of the Cerberus Assembly, now. He knows how difficult politics, and people’s expectations, make it.

“Ah,” Caleb acknowledges, sympathy softening his features.

“Come, I think the meal will be ready,” Essek invites him, rather than linger in this awkward moment.

***

The meal is as good as the wine. Caleb has been reacquainting himself with Xhorhassian cuisine this past couple of days, and he had forgotten how much he enjoyed it. Of course, they get distracted discussing arcane theory halfway through, and it isn’t long before they end up heading to the top of Essek’s tallest tower, and the casting room there. Essek lights the candles with a whisper and Caleb takes a moment to look at the grooves on the floor, curious about a couple of new lines and what they might be for. This floor is beautiful, both in terms of esthetics, lines and curves crossing each other in beautiful, complex patterns, and in terms of function, of intent. The ease of casting anything requiring a runic circle is beautiful in and of itself.

“I really should set up something like that for myself,” Caleb remarks, and looks up at Essek with a small, but genuine smile. They share the same love for arcane magic; that at least is simple, that at least is no trap.

“It is forever a work in progress,” Essek says, smiling back at Caleb before turning away to start pulling ingredients from his shelves.

It is a silly pursuit, really. All they are trying to do is combine Caleb’s transmutation with Essek’s gravity in one spell. It serves no purpose, other than the simple intellectual pleasure of it. By the time they are done, hours later, Catha is high in the sky, but they have the premise of something that might work. The discs of metal are a little wobbly still, and sometimes they take a little too long to pull themselves into shape; there are still kinks to be worked out. But Caleb manages to form them under his feet as he steps halfway up the large room, and then climbs back down in the same fashion. He is laughing as he does, and he thinks that the light in Essek’s eyes is laughter, too, for all that it does not pass his curved lips.

He is so beautiful that Caleb’s heart clenches and his step falters. The disc wobbles under his foot and he isn’t convinced he isn’t about to fall, arms shooting out to try and steady himself; good thing there are only a few feet between him and the floor. But then a force steadies him, and when he looks back at Essek, the drow has a hand held out towards him. Their eyes meet, and Caleb nods. Essek smiles again, and nods back, before releasing Caleb to make the rest of the way down on his own.

“Thank you,” he says, once he is back on solid ground.

“Don’t mention it,” Essek replies, his smile a little more amused, perhaps for using such an idiomatic phrase? Caleb isn’t sure that there isn’t something more; there is always something more with Essek, beneath the surface.

They try to work out the kinks of the spell, but it isn’t long before Caleb must face the truth that he needs sleep if he is to be capable of anything in the morning, and there is much they must do then.

“You could come and have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he offers, as he is shrugging into his coat. “We can,” his eyes land on the cake they have barely touched, “forget about dessert again and finish working on this.”

“Forgetting about dessert sounds fascinating,” Essek replies, with his cool little smile, and Caleb isn’t sure what to make of that.

Essek walks Caleb to the front gate of his towers, Frumpkin trotting beside them, and Caleb watches the drow out of the corners of his eyes as he opens it with a wave of his hand. He is suddenly feeling tongue-tied and awkward, but he wants to work past it.

“Ah, Jester suggested I, er. I give you a hug.”

The gate is halfway open as Essek’s violet eyes land on Caleb, something like shock in them. “She said the same to me, yes.”

He finally finishes opening the gate, and Caleb isn’t sure what to make of _that,_ either. Is Essek shutting it down? He was an idiot for thinking that Essek would like it; he has never been particularly inclined to touch anyone, let alone Caleb. He still remembers, as if it were yesterday, using touch to try and smooth things over with an irritated Essek, all those years ago, and the way Essek had simply pulled away from his touch as if it were not even worth acknowledging.

But he remembers kissing his forehead, too.

Caleb comes out of his own thoughts to find Essek looking as hesitant as Caleb feels, which is a surprising sight. Essek so seldom lets his thoughts show, never mind his feelings.

So Caleb swallows past his nerves and asks, “Would you, ah. Would you like a hug?”

Whatever is going on that is preventing Essek from carefully hiding away his emotions, Caleb is glad that it continues. It is fascinating to watch the play of conflicted emotions in Essek’s gaze. And at the core of them all, if Caleb isn’t mistaken, longing.

When was the last time somebody hugged Essek, he wonders. How many years ago? Caleb feels less lonely for that knowledge.

“Ah, come here,” he says, saving Essek from having to answer and stepping in close to wrap his arms around the other wizard. After a second, Essek responds in kind, and Caleb’s mad nerves settle down, his heartbeat evens out. It hadn’t been the wrong move. “Jester always gets her way, you know.”

A small sound comes from Essek; a huff of laughter? “I have noticed,” he dryly answers, and makes no move to pull back. It feels as if he is settling into the hug, slowly but steadily, and it makes Caleb’s heart ache that he is so unused to touch, to warmth, to support and comfort. To affection.

Frumpkin winds around their ankles and the wizards break apart.

“Thank you for tonight,” Caleb says, before things can get awkward. “I will see you tomorrow.”

***

Essek keeps getting distracted today, and he hates it. But he can’t help it. Somebody will be in the middle of a comparative study of the workings of a spell in either sort of magic, and his gaze will be drawn to Caleb, and his mind will flash back to the previous evening. Not just that hug, but also the giddy joy Caleb had shown, working on that spell together, and the trust and gratitude in his eyes when Essek had caught him.

Perhaps trust is going one step too far. Essek is wary not to read too much into things.

But then there _is_ the hug. The memory of Caleb holding him close, until Essek’s mind had fully quieted, thoughts of _what does this mean, what if somebody sees us,_ or _how long is a hug meant to last, should I be stepping back_ fading in favor of focusing on the feeling of Caleb’s arms around him, his arms around Caleb, and the odd sense of comfort and _peace_ that came with the embrace. Peace isn’t something Essek is used to feeling, even less so than comfort.

He blinks out of his thoughts now as the small assembly of wizards finally calls it a day, and he lingers behind, same as Caleb, so that they might be the last to leave. He hopes that Caleb has not noticed how distracted he has been, but that is not much of a hope; Caleb is very perceptive, and Essek often feels as if he is an open book to him. He has felt that way since that day he had had to tell the Nein everything. Sometimes it causes him to distance himself even more, because he isn’t used to anybody seeing him for who he is.

But right now, he wants Caleb to see him, and that leaves him more unsteady than anything else.

“Come on,” Caleb says, the warm kindness in his voice pulling Essek’s focus to him like a moth to a flame.

They are heading for the quarters set aside for the Cerberus wizards in the Lucid Bastion, and Essek pulls himself together as they do, and asks about one particular disagreement they had today, over magical theory. Not to have an argument, but because he truly wants to understand the way Caleb approaches this. The conversation lasts all the way into Caleb’s quarters, and then into Caleb’s tower, at which point it fades to silence as Essek looks up and up and up at the nexus through which to ascend to superior levels.

“Come on,” Caleb invites him, even as Frumpkin winds around Essek’s ankles. “Think _up.”_

How elegant, Essek thinks, as he rises through that nexus with Caleb by his side.

They stop, of course, by the library. Essek reaches out to slide his fingers over the spines of books as he skims over the titles, and then he looks back at a smiling Caleb and warns him, “It would be very easy to forget about dinner.”

“I could have dinner brought here,” Caleb replies, and he looks very pleased with himself. It is a good look on him, Essek decides, not for the first time.

“Then I would lose myself in your books while I ate,” Essek points out, and he is surprised to find that it is not an entirely welcome idea, when the alternative is talking with Caleb.

“Maybe some other time, ja?” Caleb offers with a bit of a lopsided smile. “We are here for at least a few weeks.”

Essek likes the offer behind that; the smile on his lips feels foreign for how frank and wide it is, before he reins it in. “I would like that very much.”

They talk through dinner, and then work on their Metal Steps some more. They go through a wide range of metals before settling on the one that works best for this kind of graviturgy, and it feels like they are finding the best ways to work together, too.

When Caleb walks Essek back to the door of his quarters, they don’t even say a word. They turn to each other and hug, and Essek’s heart is beating a little too loudly, but then he settles down again, and simply enjoys the hug. He is a little reluctant to pull away, but he does anyway, and tells Caleb, again, “I will see you tomorrow.”

He could get used to this, he thinks, as he walks away.

***

Caleb is not sure what this is, but he likes it. When they do not have to attend dinner here or there, for diplomatic reasons, Essek and he are spending their evenings together, either in Essek’s towers or in Caleb’s. Sometimes they do simply read side by side; sometimes they talk all evening, discussing arcane theories and thaumaturgical applications, or even, a couple of times, _politics._ That feels like the riskiest thing to do, but they find a small place of trust where they can meet.

It feels a little wobbly under their feet, but like their Metal Steps, the more they work on it, the steadier they become.

They go for a walk (and a hover) one evening, as they are discussing ley lines, and their steps lead them to the Xorhaus. It is still the Mighty Nein’s, of course, but Caleb hasn’t wanted to go. It lies as empty as his tower, after all, except not with Essek by his side. Frumpkin runs ahead of them and goes and paws at the front door. Caleb supposes that it is a sign.

“Ja, ja,” he agrees with the cat, and produces a set of keys from his bag. He looks at Essek. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Essek stays a step back as Caleb opens the front door and walks in. He turns on the lamps with a wave of his hand and looks around this place full of memories, and furniture hidden under sheets of fabric. Comfort, and loneliness, but then Essek floats to his side, door closing behind him as his feet touch the floor.

Caleb is grateful for his silent presence as they follow Frumpkin’s exploration of once familiar grounds. Eventually, the cat leads them to the basement, and Caleb turns a hopeful look on Essek. “What do you say? Hot tub? For old time’s sake.”

Essek looks amused, which is all Caleb had been after. “Maybe just a dip.”

Caleb fidgets with the tub for a little while, and then it is filling with steaming water. Caleb mutters spellcraft under his breath, hands weaving that same spellcraft through the air, and the water turns violet as the steam now gives off a floral, buttery scent, with a sharp citrus accent underneath.

Essek has taken off his shoes, and now he is rolling up his trousers to dip his feet in. The memory is welcome, but Caleb puts a brief hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Don’t let me be the only one to undress.”

Then he turns away as he begins to take off his clothing. As if this were no big deal, as if he was not dying to know whether Essek had accepted the suggestion, as if his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest, as if that familiar mixture of comfort and loneliness wasn’t pressing in on his lungs and making it hard to breathe. He feels so self-conscious about his body, his scars, the paleness of his skin, the smattering of freckles.

He hears the sound of water sloshing, and turns around to find Essek lowering himself into the tub, his clothes perfectly folded in a pile a few feet away, on top of his shoes. Caleb hurries to join him, very aware of the heat in his cheeks, the flush that must be showing on his face. Hopefully Essek would blame it on the heat of the water, rather than the glimpse he had seen of so much dark skin.

Most of it is hidden behind the violet water now, and Essek does not seem to share Caleb’s trouble relaxing. He is mostly submerged in the water, his head tilted back against the edge, his eyes closed, the column of his throat stretched in what Caleb has to admit is a very enticing manner. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time. He isn’t sure what to do with it.

Frumpkin meows disapprovingly, disdainfully at the water, then goes and curls up on top of Essek’s clothes, undoubtedly so that they would end up full of cat hair. Even the best prestidigitation never quite seems to get them all off, Caleb has noticed, and he smiles a little.

“You have many memories here,” Essek remarks quietly.

Caleb looks back at him, and only then realizes that he has matched the color of the water to that of Essek’s eyes. They are striking right now, and his mouth feels dry. He swallows, licks his lips, then nods. “Good memories.” Good over all, but some of them were complicated memories.

“I have good memories here, too,” Essek says with a small smile, and his tone seems to say that they are good over all, too, but also very complicated. They would be; he had been lying to them the entire time.

Caleb has long since made peace with this.

“I’m glad,” he replies, and takes a deep breath, looking around the room. “We called this the M.T. Spa, for our friend Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Essek knows enough to look sympathetic, and Caleb doesn’t know what to do with the complexity of feelings inside him. Until, that is, Essek looks hesitant, then holds a hand out to Caleb, rings glittering on long fingers.

Caleb takes it, and then slides closer to the center of the tub, remaining crouched so water still covers him in beautifully scented heat. After a moment, Essek joins him in the middle. It feels as if they have both been Slowed. Their fingers tangle together, inch by inch. Caleb’s other hand finds Essek’s arm. Essek’s settles on his side. They inch closer together, never breaking eye contact, and when they finally kiss, it is soft, it is an offering, it is a gift.

Essek leans back, and there is so much _hope_ in his eyes, and it looks just like vulnerability. (It feels like it, too, Caleb knows.) “You should know that I don’t… care… for sex.”

The way that sentence ends is such a relief, compared to other options, that Caleb lets out a soft, nervous, giddy laugh. “That’s okay. I care… for you.”

“I… care… for you too,” Essek admits, and he still says that word, care, as if it were foreign. Caleb wants to watch him grow used to saying it, to feeling it, much as he knows that it is a poisonous gift, in a way. In the end, you feel the strange comfort and loneliness of memories of what once was. But it is better than the alternative, by far.

Caleb cups Essek’s jaw, still caught in the wonder of his touch being welcome at all, by such an incredibly beautiful, incredibly smart person, and gives him another kiss, slow and indulgent.

They spend a long time in that tub, learning the boundaries of this new thing between them, and they spend the night in Caleb’s bedroom, upstairs, with a cat curled at their feet.

***

A few weeks later, Caleb is casting his tower while Essek watches, standing behind him, an arm around his waist and his chin on Caleb’s shoulder. At some point during the spell, Essek’s free hand sends a current of magic to join Caleb’s.

“What was that?” Caleb asks once the spell is done, and the door stands in front of them. There is a frown on his face, and Essek simply opens the door and walks in.

“You will like it, I think,” the drow says, simply.

He leads the way to the Salon, and Caleb gapes at the new section of books that has sprung up in his library. Gapes, and gets a little teary-eyed.

“New reading material,” Essek offers.

“I love you,” Caleb blurts out, his eyes still on the books, so that it is a good question who he is saying this to.

“Let’s curl up together and read,” Essek whispers, giving Caleb another embrace from behind.

There is nothing to say, of course, except, “Ja.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Jenna lovely! <3


End file.
